


Halloween

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Ace of Wands
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An 'Ace of Wands' story set during Season 1 - Tarot accepts an invitation to perform at a very special country house event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# HALLOWEEN

  


## an 'Ace Of Wands' story by Ina MacAllan

_"'Tis Halloween, across the sky   
The wicked witches roam,   
High on their broomsticks,  
With their cats,  
While we stay safe at home!"_

With an eerie screech the speaker whirled her cloak around her slim frame to climax the recitation. Her companion, who was occupied with the delicate task of stringing hard, under-ripe apples onto fine black thread, jumped and swore as, for the umpteenth time, the needle pierced human, rather than apple, flesh.

"Lulli, we will be staying at home if you don't start sorting out those costumes instead of wearin' 'em out."

She grinned, unrepentant, but started to fold the cloak. "I couldn't miss this. A costume ball! Just like 'Cinderella'. With a real Prince! Aren't you just a bit excited, Sam?"

Sam Maxted gave a non-committal grunt and went back to his task, but there was a gleam in his eye which betrayed his real feelings. This was not just a costume ball or a Halloween party. It was something of a coup for their friend and employer. The gossip columnists were calling it the event of the season. His Highness, Prince As Keri was celebrating the unique record of his racehorse, Sahaaswad, a filly who had never lost a race during a season which included four English, two American and two French classics.

Since the horse's name meant 'Black Witch' in the Prince's native tongue, the party was, naturally, scheduled for All Hallows Eve and, equally naturally, the entertainment was to climax with a magic show. In Sam's opinion it must have required a good deal of sleight of hand for Tarot to acquire the coveted contract. It was going to need a miracle for them to be ready with the completely new show which he had planned for the event. Especially if Lulli kept wasting time with poetry.

Sam had just finished stringing the last of the apples, without drawing further blood, when a low hoot from the owl on his perch in the corner of the room gave warning of a visitor. Seconds later the electronic door slid silently open as the bird's master entered. He was carrying a supermarket plastic bag which he dumped unceremoniously on the table.

Sam groaned. "More apples? I'll have 'em growing out of my ruddy ears before this is over."

"But you already have, Sam." The magician grinned, made a pass with one long-fingered hand, and plucked a tiny, walnut-sized apple apparently from his colleague's ear. It did not impress the Cockney, but Lulli, seeing the light glinting on the fruit, gasped and moved closer.

"That's beautiful, Tarot. Is it a real ruby?"

"Glass," he said, tossing it to her. He gestured again, into the air this time. "This is the real one."

Sam reached out and caught the magician's wrist and appraised the second  
jewel with a cracksman's eye.

"That's a little beauty. You'd not get much change out of ten grand for that. 'Ow did you lay paws on it?"

"I have a friend who works for Garrards. They've agreed to loan us that, and the fake, for the performance."

"Strewth. You'll have to introduce me to this mate. I could use friends like that."

The magician released himself and palmed the stone back into air as easily as he had produced it. "I'll introduce you when we take these back after the show."

"You didn't happen to borrow anything else while you were there? Like the Crown Jewels f'instance?"

"I didn't borrow anything, but I did bring back something else," he turned to the girl. "There's a basket outside, Lulli. Can you bring it in?"

"More props?" Sam asked, as Lulli hastened to obey. "You've not bin 'avin' any new ideas about the show, 'ave you? 'Cos there's not much time to get set up as it is."

Tarot smiled. "Nothing new, Sam. Just an essential part of what we've already planned."

He half-turned as Lulli came back into the room and set the basket down on the table. Sam stood well back as he opened it. With Tarot you could never be sure what was going to emerge from such receptacles. What the magician produced, however, was quite harmless.

"Meet our new team member."

The small black kitten gave a mew of protest as it emerged from the security of the basket. On the other side of the room the owl registered a look of pained disgust and shuffled round on its perch to present a disgruntled back to the newcomer. Lulli was more enthusiastic.

"He's sweet. Has he got a name?"

"Mephistopheles."

"Oh, a magical conjuring cat!" she picked up one of the strung apples and bounced it over the kitten's nose, chanting in time:

"_The greatest magicians have something to learn, From Mr. Mistoffelees' Conjuring Turn. Presto!_"

A small black paw came up to bat at the apple enthusiastically.

Sam groaned. "More poetry." He moved over to the table and started unpacking the carrier bag. "Where is this party anyway, Ace? Has 'is 'ighness set up camp on Epsom Downs?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if he did." The magician picked up one of the apples and took a bite. "But no. He brought a big derelict country house on Dreadmoor Fell in Yorkshire last summer. It's been renovated and turned into a stud farm. Called Lichend Hall."

He turned at a sharp intake of breath from Lulli. The kitten mewed in protest as she dropped the apple it had been playing with. Her eyes were wide with the haunted look which she wore when they were practicing their mind-reading skills, but it was not anything the magician was thinking which came to her lips.

_"At Lichend Hall, at Hallow's tide,  
Beware the gabble ratchets ride.  
Maid, if ye hear the Hunter's call,  
Flee from the hell of Lichend Hall."_

Sam snorted in disgust. "Lulli's got verse on the brain today..."

Tarot held up a hand to silence him. "Go on, Lulli."

But the spell had been broken. She shook her head and her eyes came back to focus on the magician's. "Go on? What do you mean, Tarot?"

"You were quoting poetry again," said Sam. "About Lichend Hall."

She shook her head. "No. That was from 'Cats'..." She broke off, seeing the concerned expression on the magician's face. "Wasn't it?"

He looked thoughtful. "It was a warning. Part of something very old. I think we should find out some more about Lichend Hall before we go there."

***

There were two figures standing in the swirling mist in the middle of the lake. Neither lake, nor mist, were natural. The lake had been made in the eighteenth century by diverting a small stream running through the grounds of the house which was just visible through the sear-leaved trees. Intended purely for ornamentation the water was shallow, with stepping stones set just below the surface to provide a path to the gardens beyond. On one of the stones a small box-like device whirred as it sent a miasma of dry-ice mist rolling across the still waters. Beside it the hooded and cloaked figures looked like ghosts, grey against the grey, until one of them lifted high-powered binoculars to scan their surroundings. The other, tending the machine, shifted irritably.

"'Ow much longer we gonna be? I'm gonna get a chill, standin' 'ere."

"As long as it takes." The voice was sepulchral and, when he lowered the glasses, it revealed a glowing skull beneath the hood.

His partner grunted. "An' that's anuver fing. D'we need these stupid costumes? No-one'll see us. Not in this God-forsaken 'ole."

The skull grinned, revealing even teeth beneath the fluorescent mask. "Not this morning, perhaps. But tomorrow there will be spectators. If we are seen now, who would dare question us?"

It was a rhetorical question. Death bent to pick up his scythe and, trailed by the still grumbling ape-costumed figure, made his way across the stepping stones to the opposite bank. As the two cloaked figures moved silently among the trees the dry-ice mist settled and dispersed. The dress rehearsal was over. Tomorrow the performance would begin.

***

"Gabble ratchets?"

The elderly bookseller came carefully backwards down the library steps clutching the heavy, leather bound book which he had selected from one of the highest shelves under one arm. Safe on terra firma again he set the volume down on a table already laden with loose prints, inked parchments and yellowing pamphlets and opened it with a thud that raised dust. "It's one of the old names for the Wild Hunt. The Chasse Artu in France, the Yeth Hounds in Devon, and the Gabriel Hounds or Gabble Ratchets in North Yorkshire. The name literally means 'corpse hounds', from the medieval gabares, a corpse, the same root as gibbet, and rache or bratchet for a hunting dog. Yes," he perched his glasses on his nose and started leafing through the tome, "that's a very sinister verse you have there, Lulli. The Corpse Hounds and the House of Death. Very sinister indeed."

Lulli shuddered.

"House of Death?" Tarot queried.

Mr Sweet nodded, as always ready to enlighten his young friends. "Lich End Hall. Lich is yet another word for corpse, as in 'lich-gate' at the entrance to a churchyard."

"I thought it meant 'moss-covered'," Sam volunteered.

"Hmmm, you mean lichen-covered? Wishful thinking, I'm afraid. Ah, here it  
is."

They crowded round to look at the book, which proved to be a compendium of haunted houses. The entry was short, but chilling:

**'LYTCH ENDE HALLE** _ Dreadmoor Fell, North Riding of York Shire.   
'It is said that, when the Black Plague ravaged all England, the Lord of the  
Manor of Dreadmoor made a pact with the Devil that the Plague should not touch his lands. The Devil set a seal on the house, ringing it about with hellfire that none should come or go therefrom betwixt the morn of Beltane and the eve of Samhain. In truth, all those who ventured to approach the Hall fell with the sickness, but Lord Mallswood and his family and servants remained hale and for this reason the house was named Lytch End, for that the Plague was stopped at its gates. 'Anon, on All Hallow's Eve, which is Samhain, Lord Mallswood look'd out and saw that the fire had died and he came out with his keys to unlock the gates, for his pact was at an end. There he met with the Devil, come to collect his fee, with his red-eared hounds about him and his horn in his hand, and he did hunt Lord Mallswood from dusk to dawn through all the lands where the Plague had run, showing the miscreant the power of Death, which he had thought to cheat.'_

"...And on the morrow," Sam concluded in ghostly tones, "they found Lord Mallswood's lifeless body. But they say that in those lands his ghost still runs from the gabble ratchets on All Hallow's Eve."

"Which explains my poem," concluded Lulli.

Mr Sweet nodded. "A Victorian romanticisation of the legend. Of course, the Wild Hunt is a common European myth, and the Plague gave rise to stories all over the country, but it is unusual to find the two connected."

Lulli shivered. "I wish we hadn't found this out now. We're doing the show on All Hallow's Eve."

Tarot put an arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll be at a party. We're not likely to hear any hunter's horn over the sound of our show. And we'd better get moving if we're going to get there in time to rehearse."

***

The watery morning sunlight had given way to clear blue skies when Sam drove the van which held the magician's equipment up to the ornate iron gates of Lichend Hall. Lulli gave a little exclamation of awe as the gates swung open and the guards waved them through. Prince As Keri's country residence was a stately home only marginally smaller than Buckingham Palace. From the edge of the estate the house looked like a glittering toy, its copper-clad eaves and turrets sparkling in the sunlight and reflected in the waters of the lake which lay like a mirror between the formal gardens and the landscaped grounds where sleek thoroughbred horses grazed among the trees. Warning signs by the roadside limited the speed of visiting vehicles but Sam was driving even more slowly in an attempt to assess the place.

"This lot must've cost a fortune!"

Tarot nodded. "His Highness lives in the style to which he is accustomed in his native country. You should see the Little Palace in Sharq. It has 500 rooms and is roofed with gilded bronze."

The cockney whistled. "Make a change from nicking the lead off church roofs. Where do we go now?"

He had reached a fork in the drive. One path led to the front of the house, where three staircases swept up to the original entrance in the renovated facade, the other wound off into a stand of variegated laurels hiding clustered brick out-buildings. Tarot indicated the smaller road.

"Tradesmans entrance," Sam sighed and spun the wheel. The van bumped over an unmade track to a second barred gate where a second guard inspected Tarot's pass. It became clear that this was no routine when he demanded the keys to open the van and inspect the interior. Sam kept his hand on the keyring as he turned to the magician.

"They can't do that. There's valuable gear in there. An' some trick set-ups..."

Tarot stopped the protest, taking the keys himself and slipping from his seat to confront the guard. He was wearing the flowing black and silver embroidered robe of his stage costume and did not look out of place amid the Eastern architecture of the courtyard. The guard was plainly taken aback by his appearance and was further surprised to be addressed quietly in his own language.

Sam and Lulli watched the exchange of formal greetings and the ensuing conversation uncomprehendingly. At length the guard lowered his rifle, gave a brief salute, and escorted the magician back to the van. Tarot settled himself back into his seat and handed the keys back to Sam. It was not until they had rounded the corner out of sight of the guard that they relaxed.

"Phew. I thought 'e was going to shoot us all. What did you say to stop 'em searching the van?"

Tarot grinned. "I gave him my word that we had nothing which could harm His Highness."

"And he believed you?" Sam regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them. A brief cloud crossed the magician's face, then it passed, giving way to a smile.

"Of course. Who could doubt the word of a magician?"

"Except when 'e says 'e's got nothing up 'is sleeves," Sam rejoined, lightening the mood.

"But I haven't." Tarot inserted a hand into the voluminous sleeve of his robe, pantomimed a look of incredulity, and produced a bunch of paper flowers. "Well, nothing that could possibly harm His Highness."

Laughing now, Sam drove the van neatly into a parking space behind the house and killed the engine. As he did so the double doors which Sam had referred to as the 'tradesman's entrance' opened and a man hurried out. He had the swarthy Arabic features of the guard but he wore a dark, immaculately cut suit and, as he crossed the gravel towards them, he was retracting the ariel of a very expensive portable telephone. A white grin split his beard when he saw the newcomers and the magician was overwhelmed in a bear-like hug.

"Tau-ro, my old friend! You are welcome again to my humble dwelling. It is honoured by your presence. And your companions, of course."

Tarot extricated himself with a polite phrase in Arabic and stepped back for long enough to introduce Lulli and Sam. "His Highness, Prince As Keri of Sharq."

Lulli could not hide her surprise and the Prince grinned. "You had expected  
desert robes, my dear? I regret they are not wholly practical for this English climate, but I assure you that tomorrow night you will not be disappointed." He bowed to touch her proffered hand with his lips. Confused, she made a cursory curtsey.

Tarot came to her rescue. "We hope that you will not be disappointed by our performance, Highness."

Sam broke in. "Look, I 'ate to break up the mutual admiration society, but we do need to set up the gear, or there won't be a show."

"Of course," His Highness took the hint. "I will send my steward to show you where to go." He extended the telephone ariel again and barked some sharp commands into the set. Almost at once a youth clad in jeans and leather jacket, as casual as the Prince was elegant, emerged from the house. His Highness beckoned him over. "This is Sylvester. He's a local, so he's known the house for longer than I have. He'll take care of you. And now I regret that I have business to attend to. I will see you at the ball."

He hurried back into the house. For an instant, before the steward turned to them, Sam saw a fleeting expression of pure hatred cross the youth's face.  
It was gone when he asked them to follow him to the ballroom.

***

The hall in which the costume ball and its attendant revelries were to be held was only a little smaller than an aircraft hangar. The activity of the workmen, who were erecting a stage, dance floor, lighting gantries and halloween decorations consisting of black silk cobwebs and giant polystyrene pumpkins, increased the resemblance.

The three companions picked their way through the bedlam in the wake of the Princes' steward. Sam eyed the pandemonium with concern. "Ace, they'll never 'ave this lot ready for tomorrer night!"

Their guide smiled. "I assure you they will. Everything will be ready in good time."

The magician looked at him sharply, detecting something behind the bland  
statement. "His Highness is fortunate to have such an efficient Steward."

"Yes." It was said with a look of quiet pride. Then the youth pulled aside the curtain draped across the stage. "I hope everything is in order for you here. You can unload your van through that door. I'll give orders that you're not to be disturbed."

He moved away to speak to one of the technicians who was scratching his head thoughtfully over a tangle of cables and light-fittings.

Sam vaulted up onto the raised stage and reached down a hand to help Lulli follow. He had to whistle to catch Tarot's attention. The magician was still  
watching the guide. He forced his attention away at Sam's question.

"The horse? Yes. We'll take a look at her when we've set up here." He nodded to the steward. "Can you arrange that?"

"Sure. I'll tell the stablemen to expect you. At what time?"

Tarot looked a question at his partner. Sam made a quick assessment of the stage and facilities. "About three hours, I reckon. An' if 'is 'ighness 'as any food goin'?"

The steward bowed. "I will have something sent to you." With that he left them  
to begin the task of making ready for the Halloween show.

***

The tall figure thrust a finger through the eye socket of the grinning face.

Flame danced to life and tallow dripped onto the scraps of flesh which still clung to the interior of the macabre lantern, then the wick caught and orange  
light glowed through the eyes and frayed mouth-holes which had been cut into the pumpkin. As the figure withdrew his hand a cat leapt from his shoulder to inspect the lantern.

"Careful, Anubis. We musn't get burned, must we?"

The black feline ears twitched in disdain but the animal withdrew carefully.

"No, Anubis. We must not get burned, but our enemies...Ah yes, our enemies..."

A second lamp flared at a gesture, and a third, responding to the pyromantic powers of the cloaked figure. When the circle was completed he laughed, making a gesture to encompass the flowering of the lamplight.

Other eyes glowed in the darkness. The green eyes of Anubis as he settled himself onto his now seated master's lap were joined by the sapphire blue of two slanting siamese gazes, the orange of a white persian, the dark jade of tabby, tortoiseshell and ginger tom. And the human eyes behind the masks of Death and the Ape.

The slender fingers caressed the cat as its master questioned his minions on their morning's work. At length he nodded. "You have done well. You are sure that the flares will not fail?"

"No way." The Ape was confident. "I water-proofed 'em meself. They're one 'undred per cent reliable. I'd stake me life on it."

"You will," the cat-masked figure said, with chilling certainty, before turning to Death. "And what of your part in the operation?"

"Prepared." The bony fingers flexed nervously on the scythe handle as he summoned the courage to make his next comment. "But I'm worried about this magician. He might realise that it's a trick."

Anubis gave a "prrup" of protest as the stroking hand stilled.

"Tarot." The voice was thoughtful. "Yes. We may have to deal with Tarot. Leave  
him to me."

***

Tarot, Sam and Lulli had completed their preparations for the performance, eaten a meal appropriately fit for a prince, and had come out into the stable yard to be introduced to the party's guest of honour.

"And this is the old Witch." His Highness' head lad, a brown nut of a man who might have been as old as the house itself, swung back the top half of the stable door and hooked it against the wall. He had to duck quickly as a wicked-eyed black head shot out, huge yellow teeth snatching for his arm.  
"She's well named, too. Off the racetrack only His Highness can do anything with her."

Sam looked at the red-rimmed eye in horror. "Ace, you'll never get that mad creature on stage!"

The magician smiled. "Have faith, Sam. I'm sure she's not that bad-tempered, are you, girl?" He reached up gently to wrap a hand around one of the laid-back ears. After an initial astonished jerk away from the touch, she submitted for long enough to allow him to bring her head down to his and he whispered softly into the captured ear.

It twitched forward.

He passed his other hand over her soft black muzzle and stroked gently. "See? I don't think we'll have any trouble with her."

The lad gave a low, astonished whistle. "Strewth! You are a magician."

Tarot smiled. "Well. I do have a reputation to maintain." He unhooked the bottom of the door and spoke softly to the horse. "Come on, girl. Let's get you ready for the show."

"Wait," said the groom, "What are you going to do with her?"

Tarot slipped a halter over the now-docile head and walked the filly out into the yard.

"Relax," said Sam. "His Highness wanted her to be part of the show tomorrow, so we have to rehearse now."

"Then I'm coming with her. As the Prince's Horse Master it's more than my job's worth to let her out of my sight."

Sam looked quickly at the magician who nodded.

"I can't promise that she won't be out of your sight; but she won't be harmed. You may find it rather dull though. It's just a prop rehearsal."

"I'm coming. Sahaaswad may be just a prop to you, but she's my bread and caviar."

***

Despite Tarot's disparaging remarks the rehearsal held its audience of His Highness' retainers and workmen spellbound.

The magician was running through the planned routine with the barest minimum of presentation, checking his timing against Sam's stopwatch at intervals and interrupting the flow of his performance to add or subtract items to fit the  
hall where the show was to be held, but the audience could not have detected a single slip, from the introduction when, in keeping with the halloween theme, apples and pumpkins appeared and vanished, broomsticks levitated and flew, candles and crystal balls glowed and danced, to the moment when the horse, calm amid the swirling lights vanished to be replaced by a small black kitten bearing a solid ruby apple on its collar.

The stableman broke into spontaneous applause before he realised that his charge had gone. "What the...? Where is she?"

The protest died as Tarot, who had been onstage a moment before, came from the back of the room leading the filly behind him. The magician smiled. "I said I'd take care of her. Sam, how was the timing?"

"Twelve minutes over, Ace. I'll 'ave to fix the locks on those cabinets. Otherwise there's no problems."

"Lulli?" The magician turned to his assistant. She was stroking the horse's neck and looked up to give her report. Then, as before, she hesitated. "I..." her eyes clouded. In a voice that was scarcely her own she chanted;

_"The Devil caught him by the hair,  
And set him on the coal-black mare.  
Her coat was jet, her eyes were fire,  
Her breath was flame, her aspect dire..."_

The spell was broken as the filly shook her head, breaking the grip on her mane. Lulli blinked and looked at Tarot, continuing her comments as if there had been no interruption. "I think she'll be fine, Tarot. The lights don't bother her at all."

The magician took the halter from her and examined her critically. "What about you, Lulli? Are you all right?"

She smiled back, unconcerned. "Of course. I'm fine. Why? Is something wrong?" She realised slowly that they were all looking at her and her own eyes widened with alarm. "What happened?"

Tarot put a hand on her arm. "That's what we're going to find out, Lulli. When  
we've finished here."

***

Sam watched as Tarot scrawled the last symbol in the confines of the chalk circle which he had drawn around himself and the seated Lulli.

"I don't see why you need this mumbo-jumbo, Ace. You've never used it before."

"Precautions don't hurt, Sam. There is obviously something connected with this house that's affecting Lulli and I don't want to take any risks."

Lulli ventured an apprehensive smile. "If there is something creepy messing  
with my mind I'd rather it stayed outside that circle."

"Hey! I'm outside the circle. Will I be safe?"

Tarot smiled. "I thought you didn't believe in this mumbo-jumbo, Sam?"

"I don't, but maybe the spooks do."

"Don't worry," said the magician reassuringly. "Whatever is here only seems to affect Lulli. Are you ready, Lulli?"

She nodded and he placed his hands in hers.

"Then relax. Just let your mind go blank. As if we were doing the act."

Obediently, with the sense of long familiarity, Lulli opened her mind to the magician. His low voice prompted her, leading her thoughts to the past, to the old house, the moors beyond, to the lords of the Manor with their horses and their hounds. To the plague years.

There was no reaction.

Tarot shook his head, baffled, and looked across at Sam.

"Whatever she's been picking up, it doesn't seem to be part of the history of this house."

Sam looked at him.

"What about the future then, Ace?"

"Or the present. Lulli's a sensitive. It could be that someone has designs on this place. Or His Highness' horse. Anyone obsessed with the place could give her something to pick up on."

He concentrated again, meeting the girl's haunted eyes with his own hypnotic gaze. "Lulli, concentrate. I want you to think about this room. Describe it for me."

Her eyes widened, as if she saw something other than the magician's, and she spoke for the first time. "Home."

Tarot glanced at Sam before turning back to her. "Whose home, Lulli? Yours?"

She shivered. "No. Forbidden. Locked..." And she began to recite in a sing-song tone:

_"With bar and chain,  
with lock and latch,  
No chink was there,   
from floor to thatch,  
The Master, kin and servants all  
Immured within old Lichend Hall."_

The verse ended with a sigh. Tarot reached out and touched her brow, linking his mind more closely into their rapport. He was met by a totally unexpected blast of pure hatred. At the same moment Sam gave a yell as the perimeter of the circle around them burst into flame.

*****


	2. Halloween,  Part 2/2

_ **Halloween, Part 2/2** _

He had prepared carefully. The cats watched in fascination as his fingertip traced a complex pattern inches above the photograph which lay flat on the desk. It was an old publicity photograph of the magician and his assistant torn raggedly from a magazine. As the hooded figure concentrated his powers the edges of the paper began to char. Small flames danced across the shiny surface, following the trail of the pyromantic's fingers. As they licked inwards smoke rose, obscuring the photograph. The master of the flames smiled.

"So, Tarot, taste my power. Do you think your parlour tricks can defend against true magic?"

As if in answer the flames flared magnesium blue...and died as if doused with water before the images of the smiling faces could be consumed. And then there was nothing but silver ash, scattered around a perfect circle of unmarked paper.

With a curse the pyromantic crumpled what was left of the photograph and threw it to the floor.

"You may have protections, Tarot, but I will succeed. I will."

On the floor Anubis batted at the crumpled paper with a delicate paw.

***

Tarot brushed the foam from the fire extinguisher from his sleeve and stepped across the charred perimeter of the circle to take the cylinder from Sam's hands.

"Thanks. That was quick thinking. Are you all right, Lulli?"

"I...I think so. What happened, Tarot?"

"I'm not sure. I think we may have got tangled up in someone else's plans for this house. If His Highness will let me use the phone I'd like to have a word with Mr Sweet. He might be able to find out more about the history of the place. In the meantime..."

Sam sighed. "I know. In the meantime we'd better clear up this mess and get ready for the show."

***

The Prince's halloween party had been a great success and now the entertainment which His Highness had arranged for his guests had reached a climax. As the echoes of the cymbal-clash died and the red flash of light faded Lulli scooped up the black kitten and made her well-rehearsed gesture to the back of the hall. All heads in the audience turned obediently.

But there was nothing there.

Horse and magician had truly vanished.

Concerned, Lulli glanced across at Sam. He shook his head briefly and reached  
for the control which would bring up the lights and end the performance. Before he could do so, however, the room was plunged into pitch darkness.

Someone screamed.

Cursing, Sam threw the light switch but the darkness remained.

All other sound was stopped by a magnified, eerie chuckle.

Then a voice spoke, intoning verse like a death-knell.

_"You folk who dwell in Lichend Hall,  
Beware the curse which shall befall,  
If, on All Hallows Eve you bide,  
Ye shall meet Death, ere morning-tide."_

The curse was followed by a shriek of eldritch laughter and the curtains which had covered the ballroom windows flew open, revealing the lawns lying silvered in the moonlight, wreathed with mist.

Red light flared suddenly from a chain of torches and across the lake, with the speed of autumn clouds heralding rain, there ran a pack of ghostly white hounds, their pricked ears red as rust and, in their wake, bearing more flaming torches, rode two chilling figures, Death, and an Ape.

There was silence in the hall for a moment, then the room erupted into applause, led by the Prince himself. He took the stage, made a brief speech of congratulation to the evening's performers, and sent his guests on their way, bringing the party to an abrupt, but politic, end. Meanwhile, Lulli, still shocked by the sudden events, had not moved from her position. She jumped as a hand touched her arm.

"You okay?" The voice was familiar. She nodded.

"Yes, Sam. What was that?"

"Someone plugged into our sound system. They've fused the lights. Can you wait 'ere while I fix 'em?"

"Yes. But...what about that warning. It was the poem again, wasn't it?"

"I didn't memorise it, but it sounded right."

She shivered. Sam put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her reassuringly.

"Don't panic. Ace is probably already on 'is trail. An' I don't believe in ghosts who need four 'undred megawatts of PA to get their message across."

"Or," said a familiar voice, "who ride along roads that were not here four hundred years ago."

Mr Sweet stepped from the shadows of the ballroom. He had two heavy volumes under one arm which he placed on the edge of the stage, freeing a hand to offer it to the Prince. "Your Highness, I apologise for my intrusion. My friend Tarot asked me to bring some information which I had discovered about the history of this house. I did not expect this...interruption."

The Prince shook the proffered hand with a preoccupied air. "Not, I think, a planned one."

"More of a diversion."

Sam had been examining the fittings of the hall and now he switched aside one of the curtains, peering up at the track on which it ran. "Automatic runners," he observed. His fingers traced the fine white cable tacked to the window frame to the point where it passed through a newly drilled hole in the wood. "Linked to a timer, I'd guess. There's nothing supernatural about this. Only question is 'ow they got in 'ere to fix it up."

"The place was full of workmen all day," Lulli pointed out. "Almost anyone could have spent hours in here fixing that without being questioned."

"No." The denial was very firm. They turned from their examination to meet the Prince's stern countenance. "Everyone who has come in has been searched."

"Yeah," growled Sam, remembering, "Except us."

The Prince gave a quick smile. "Ah, but I know my old friend Tau-ro. He would not forgo the climax of his performance thus. And he would not lose my Sahaaswad willingly."

Mr Sweet met the Arab's eyes. He spoke quietly. "I doubt he has, your Highness. Your property is as valuable to him as his own. He will return it to you, I do not doubt."

"Then who could have done this?" asked Lulli.

"I think," the antiquarian said slowly, "I can guess." He tapped the books which he had brought. "I have traced some more about Lichend Hall. A history of the family which owned the house, and the full text of that poem which you quoted, Lulli." He turned again to their host. "Your Highness, you said that your steward was a local man. What is his name?"

The Prince pondered for a moment. "Sylvester," he said, accenting the name oddly, "Sylvester Mallwood."

"Mallwood!" Lulli remembered it first. "Mr Sweet, that was the name of the Lord of Lichend Hall, the one in the poem... Who sold his soul to the devil..."

"This one," he replied, "appears to be riding with the devil. When Tarot phoned me this afternoon he asked about the Mallwood family. They really did survive the Plague. And they owned the house until the 50s. Death duties forced the last Lady Mallwood to sell the place, but the family still live in the village. If he is a Mallwood it would not be surprising for him to be obsessed by the poem - and by this house."

"The ring of fire," whispered Lulli. "That was him, wasn't it? He can do that... just by thinking about it?"

The bookseller nodded. "His family has probably had that ability for centuries. There are a number of instances of embarrassing family records having been lost in fires. And the house has been burned out twice. It may be at the root of the legend. You remember the devil was supposed to have put a ring of fire round the house to keep out the Plague? I think that old Lord Mallwood did that. It was the only chance he had to save his family."

"And the Wild Hunt?" asked Sam.

"The Wild Hunt has been grafted on to a lot of English legends. Sir Francis Drake in Devon, Herne in Windsor, even Robin Hood. If the Mallwood's were  
pyromantics, fire-starters, it is not surprising that the locals thought they were in league with the devil. And Sylvester Mallwood is playing on the legend."

"In my country too we have legends of the hunt. Let us see if this young fox can outrun my hawks." The Prince strode confidently out of the hall, calling for his retainers and transport.

Lulli looked after him. "What about us," she asked Sam. "Do we just sit and wait?"

"No." Her companion smiled, flipping open the lid of one of their props baskets. "We do some hunting of our own. They've been using some special effects equipment out there. I think we should give them a demonstration of what can be done."

***

Death and the Ape brought their horses to a halt amid the milling pack of Ibizan hounds at the edge of the lake. The tall, narrow, finely built dogs with their pricked erect red ears might well have been descendants of the sleek Roman hounds which had given rise to the hell-hunt legends. Their lolling tongues and bright eyes showed a delight in the run that they had been allowed which was out of keeping with the demeanour of the riders whom they had accompanied. The taller figure looked back anxiously along their track, listening for sounds of pursuit. The throb of engines came faintly through the trees.

"I 'ope this works," he muttered, dousing his torch in the misted water. The Ape nodded and thrust his own brand into the lake. As he did so, new torches flamed to life on the horizon line. Each of the oil-soaked bundles which they had placed there earlier ignited and died in succession, so that it would seem, to an observer, that the Hunt continued, the line of fire streaking away across the open moor.

After a moment they heard the sounds of pursuit sweep past them. The Prince and his followers chased the phantom flares with no suspicion that their true quarry lurked by the mist-shrouded lake.

The Ape grinned, doffing his mask. He rubbed a hand through tousled red hair.  
"Well, I don't know 'ow, but the Boss did it. They'll be 'alf way to Scotland by mornin'."

"Yeah," agreed his companion. "Just as well I clobbered that magician though, or he might've spotted the trick."

"He might," came a soft agreement. A cloaked and hooded figure stepped from the edge of the lake where he had been examining the mist-making machine. The Ape jumped with surprise. "Hey, Boss, is something wrong? I thought you were goin' to do over the 'ouse."

The voice was a low whisper, tenuous as the mist. "I am. You know the rest of the plan?"

"Sure. We'll take the dogs back to the kennels first an' meet you to do the business at the 'ouse."

"And the racehorse?"

Death answered, "I left it tied up in those trees behind the house after I slugged the magician."

The man pulled his hood further forward and turned away from the lake. "Show me."

Death pulled his own cloak closer against the chill night air and set off for the indicated spot. The other trailed him.

The Ape watched them both go, cursing under his breath at being left alone to leash the dogs but not daring to protest. He had seen what the pyromantic could do when angered and did not care to test his master's powers further.

***

Sam looked around the small space, screened from the end of the ballroom by the deceptively pleated stage curtains where Tarot should have been waiting with the filly for the climax of their show. The floor, thick, muffling felt, was marked with hoofprints, and something else. Sam knelt and dipped his fingers in the sticky substance which made a darker patch against the grey.

"Is it...blood?" asked Lulli, nervously.

"Na. Something else. 'And me that torch will you, Lulli? The one with the six inch bulb. An' turn out the lights."

Lulli rummaged in their box of equipment and found the heavy torch which Sam had asked for. She handed it to him and Mr Sweet flicked off the lights. They heard Sam switch on the torch but, for a moment, could see nothing. Then he swung the beam to focus on the floor and it illuminated they saw a glowing trail of sickly yellow- green slime.

"Luminous paint," said the Cockney. "That's why those hounds were glowing. They were coated in it. Whoever set this up must've rigged ultra-violet lamps into the house's floodlight system. They tripped it when the lights went out."

"And someone came in here and took the horse," added Lulli.

"And Ace," said Sam, grimly. "At least we have a trail to follow. Shall we go?"

The question did not need asking twice. Leaving Mr Sweet with the precious equipment the magician's assistants pulled on their coats and set off into the icy night to backtrack the Hunt.

***

The tree to which Death led the cloaked figure might have been planted at the time of the Plague itself. It was a magnificent weeping pine, the gnarled branches sweeping down from the crown like the crinolined skirts of a Caroligian courtesan. The space between trunk and outer foliage was huge and empty with the eerie cathedral-like silence of all pine forests. Empty save for the presence of the racehorse tethered to an iron ring fastened to the trunk centuries before for just this purpose.

She whinnied enquiringly as the two figures ducked beneath the outer branches to enter her strange new stable.

"See, I said she was fine, didn't I, Boss?" Death turned, grinning in expectation of praise...and met the dark, compelling eyes of the magician.

For an instant he might have broken away, but then it was too late. Tarot's hands closed on his wrists, forcing rapport, and the low voice, recognisably now not that of his master, lulled him reluctantly into trance.

The magician waited a moment to be sure of his acquiescence before releasing his victim. Tarot could still feel the bruise from the blow which had felled him and was not inclined to treat these men any less roughly. With the man sleeping on his command he secured him and stripped off the mask before moving to check the horse. She was, as Death had said, fine. She moved restlessly though in the cold night air. Tarot nodded in sympathy.

"I think I'd better take you back to your stable," he said, untying the knotted reins and leading her out from beneath the sheltering tree. The moon had risen and the park was bright with silver light. He did not realise that he was outlined against it until he heard a shout from below the ridge and the sounds of pursuit.

Almost without thought he was on the filly's back, urging her in the direction of the house. He could not be caught now. He had given his word to keep the horse safe, and he would deliver her to His Highness though the hell-hounds ran at his heels.

The thought brought pause.

Having fooled the conspirators once, could they be fooled a second time? Perhaps. As he rode he donned the mask. Death once again raced through the grounds of Lichend Hall.

***

"There he goes! Catch him!" The command was a roar more suited to the battlefield than the moonlit parkland.

Nevertheless it had its effect. Two of Prince As Keri's men broke from the group to give chase to the figure which had raced from the copse as they approached.

"'E'll 'ave to shift fast to beat 'em," Sam observed. Then he turned to  
inspect the place from which the figure had appeared. "Well, let's find out if 'e did come from 'ell."

The Prince looked at him in surprise. "You are not afraid of the supernatural?"

"I'm not afraid of anything that uses dry ice and luminous paint to get its effects." Sam lifted the big ultra-violet lamp which he had brought from the house and flicked the switch. A trail of lurid green luminescence lay splashed across the lawn, leading past the house and down to the lake, along the line which the hell-hunt had followed. "We know where they went," he said. "Let's find out where they came from."

Back-tracking the rider was simple enough. Although this part of the grounds lay in darkness where the trees crowded close, Sam's lamp, and the light from the torches which His Highness had commanded his men to bring, lit the way sufficiently. It led to the spreading specimen pine tree planted out of line of sight from the house. When they reached it Sam was the first to duck beneath the hanging branches. He discovered that they were not the first to unravel the wild hunt's secret.

A figure lay with his back against one of the trees, his wrists fastened behind it with a pair of solid-looking handcuffs.

The man was clad in nothing but his underpants and was shivering in the cold autumn air. Sam lifted the UV lamp to examine the captive's face, and almost dropped it as a blank-eyed skull stared back at him.

The Prince was equally shaken. "Death! That's the creature that was riding  
my Sahaaswad!"

Sam, who had recovered enough from the initial surprise to examine the captives bonds, shook his head. "No. These are Tarot's handcuffs. I think it was him you just sent your men off to chase."

The Prince looked puzzled. "Tarot's handcuffs? Is your friend then a policeman?"

"He's an escapologist. Who else would carry 'em about?" Sam retorted. "Just as well this guy isn't one too." He rose from his inspection and looked at the girl.

"Lulli, can you tell where Tarot is now?"

She concentrated, her eyes blank with worry. Then nodded. "He's all right. He's back at the house. But..." she hesitated, then shivered, "he's in danger. Terrible danger..."

Sam got to his feet and looked wildly around. He knew that there would not be time to reach the house on foot before the Prince's own retainers. As if in answer to his prayers the torchlight flicked over a metallic shape leaning against one of the trees. It was a motorbike. Probably one used by Tarot's captive to reach this place. Sam was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Seconds later he kicked the machine to life and, with Lulli clinging on behind, bounced over the rough sheep-track in the direction of the house.

***

There were lights moving in the courtyard.

Not the flaming torches set there by the hoaxers but the pale yellow glimmer of electric torches.

Tarot reined the filly to a halt and slid from her back. She trembled, head raised to catch the heavy scent which permeated everything.

Petrol.

Her nostrils flared, smelling not only the alien substance, but a scent of fear. At any moment she was ready to panic, betraying their presence. The magician laid a hand on her sweat-slick neck and she calmed at the touch.

"Steady, girl."

It was barely a breath, but someone heard.

A voice came from the shadows. "That you, Mat?"

"Yeah." Tarot mimicked Death's course growl and moved forward, letting the torchlight pick up the lurid luminescence of his mask. The Ape's eyes met his. But this time Tarot was not given time enough to hypnotise his victim. The ape-masked man reacted with almost simian speed, hurling the can he carried at the magician. Tarot swayed to one side, letting the missile crash to the ground behind him. It spilled its oily contents onto the cobbles in a rainbow of colour. Tarot ignored it. With the grace of a matador he danced away from the roundhouse punch which the Ape launched at his head. He parried the blow that followed it with his forearm, blocking the other man's wrist with a force that left them both with bruises. The magician was not a boxer, his hands were far too valuable for him to risk them in such crude combat even had he not eschewed violence. There were, however, methods of defeating such an opponent. Methods born of ancient disciplines.

He moved closer, feinting a kick at the Ape's throat. The masked head swayed aside an instant before it connected, but Tarot was already positioned inside his opponent's guard. He deflected another blow, slid his hand along the man's captured wrist and gripped for a throw. It might have ended the combat but, as he shifted his stance to make the throw his foot skidded on the oiled cobbles. The move was aborted and he went down beneath his adversary. The Ape gave a yell of triumph. It was the last sound he made.

Already unnerved by the events of the night the filly panicked at the inhuman yell. She lashed out with her hind hooves and the blow connected. The Ape pitched forward and Tarot had to roll to avoid his descending weight.

The horse was still prancing with excitement and his first priority was to calm her. Fortunately it took him only moments to reassert his spell over her before leading her back into the stall which she had vacated what seemed hours before.

A check on the Ape showed that he was unconscious but no bones appeared to be broken. A heavier animal, with steel shoes might have killed with a kick like that.

Grateful that the filly had been on his side Tarot moved the masked figure into the recovery position before turning his attention to the reason for his return.

There was a door beyond the courtyard leading to the back of the house.  
It was the work of moments for him to open the locks. Easing it carefully open to avoid any tell-tale creaks, Tarot entered the house.

The petrol smell was heavier here, the carpet slick with it. Conscious of the danger of slipping again on the marble floors he took off his boots, moving silently through the deserted rooms on bare feet, listening for sounds from his adversary.

He found the pyromantic as he left the ballroom where everything, from the tables and curtains to his own abandoned equipment, had been drenched in petrol. The adjoining gallery had been stripped of all decoration save its long runner of Kilim carpet. Starlight glowed through the tall uncurtained Georgian windows which ran the length of the corridor. The glow illuminated the figure who stood pouring the contents of the last can onto the heaped pictures and furnishings at the gallery's end.

Tarot stopped, and waited.

The other looked up. "You're too late, magic-man," he sneered, "You can't stop me now."

"You can stop yourself." Tarot pointed out. He took a step forward. The man screeched in fury.

"Don't come any closer!"

Another step.

"Why are you doing this?" Tarot asked.

"Because it's mine! I can do what I want with my house!"

At a gesture from the pyromantic a path of flame flashed between them.

Twelve-thousand poundsworth of ancient Persian carpet formed a blackened, flame-edged ribbon like new-laid tarmac spread on the tiled floor.

Tarot continued his steady advance along the centre of the path, his bare feet crushing red-hot ash at every step. His eyes were still fixed on his adversary, dark and unfocused in the deaths-head mask.

The man dropped the can and screamed, babbling words as if they were a charm against the magician:

_"Then Death, he looked him up and down,   
And said, "If you would save your own,  
Ye'll join my Hunt, as I desire,  
And ride with me; or burn in FIRE,"_

The last word was a shriek. As he uttered it Tarot reached him.

He stepped from the burning carpet and caught the raised hand in his own.  
His eyes never left the man's.

"Do you want to burn everything here?"

"Yes...Yes. It's MY inheritance. For me and my cats. Not for his horrible horses."

He wrenched free of Tarot's grip and turned to make a gesture which would ignite the pile behind him and start an unstoppable conflagration...and stopped.

Sitting on top of the pile was a small black kitten. It mewed, and thoughtfully batted a round red gemstone down onto the tiles.

The pause stretched.

Tarot released the man who reached out to the kitten.

And in that instant there was a roar of sound from the gardens beyond. The magician turned in time to see Sam crouched low over the handlebars of a motorbike as it took off in an arc from the edge of the terrace and ran straight through the tall window at the far end of the corridor. The machine landed in a shower of glass and came to a skidding halt at the end of the burned out carpet.

Sam killed the engine and, in the ensuing silence, lifted his helmet.

"You okay, Ace?"

"I am. And so, I think, is this fire-raiser. Did you find His Highness?"

"Yes. I had to get to you before his men did. They've been chasing whoever stole that horse. And I think they're the sort who shoot first and take the mask off later."

Tarot took the hint and removed the mask of Death. As he disposed of it the subject of their conversation stepped through the window which had been shattered in Sam's precipitate entry. His Highness' expression as he took in the scene was unreadable. The magician did not need to be a mindreader to know what his first question would be, and he forestalled it.

"Sahaaswad is back in her stall, your Highness. She's unharmed."

The Prince grinned. "I knew that I could trust you with her, Tau-Ro. Though not, it seems, with my carpets. What has happened here?"

Tarot surveyed the damage in the corridor for the first time. "It's a very old story," he said.

***

Lulli dropped the last of the silk scarves into the hamper and closed the lid.

"Is that everything?" asked Sam.

"There's just one thing missing." She looked around at the gathered boxes. The ballroom had been stripped of everything in the past few hours, leaving only the magician's equipment to be packed before the cleaners moved in to rid the place of the smell of petrol. There was nowhere anything could be hiding.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Tarot entered from the corridor. He was holding out a blood-red ruby in his hand.

"Two things," she corrected, taking it from him to drop into its box. "Where's Mephistopheles?"

"With his new master," said the magician. "Since our kitten was responsible for stopping Mallwood setting fire to the place they've been inseparable. And His Highness has agreed to let him turn one of the estate lodges into a cat sanctuary run so they'll both have a good home."

"So long as he doesn't set it on fire," Sam observed.

Tarot looked serious. "I don't think that there's any danger of that now," he said. "The Mallwood family have always used their power to get what they wanted. And Sylvester Mallwood has a home for his cats. I don't think that he will use his powers again."

"I hope not," grinned Sam. I don't want Lulli quoting any more poetry."

Lulli grinned. "Just one more verse," she said. "From the book Mr Sweet found:

_"Now all the tale of what befell,  
Lord Mallwood and the Hounds of Hell,  
At Lichend Hall, on Hallow's Eve,  
Is nothing more than make-believe."_

**The End**

London  
31 October  
1989

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ashiurakis A.M. Spoken Arabic Self Taught (Darf 1985)  
Blyton E. 'Tis Halloween 'Children's Encyclopedia'(Purnell c1958)  
Bongianni M. Great Horses. (W.H.Allen 1983)  
Eliot T.S. Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (Mardon, Son and Hall 1940)  
Hole C. Wild Hunt. 'Man, Myth and Magic' Vol.7 (1968)  
Norman D. The Stately Ghosts of England (Muller 1963)  
Anon: Herne The Hunter. 'Man, Myth and Magic' Vol.3 (1968)  
Ibizan Hound. 'Breed Standards, Hound Group' (The Kennel Club 1986)

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa 1990 for _Enigma 13_, a genzine in the days before we bothered with categories and ships. Nothing here that couldn't be shown on UK TV in the 5.30 children's hour.


End file.
